


Something Softer (15x09 coda)

by mikaylamazing



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Coda, Episode: s15e09 The Trap, Fluff, M/M, Post-Episode: s15e09 The Trap, Protective Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:20:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22340194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikaylamazing/pseuds/mikaylamazing
Summary: 15x09 coda in which Sam notices a change in Dean's demeanor after his return from purgatoryaka Dean's character development in this episode was too good for me to ignore and I needed to write him being very soft and protective
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 5
Kudos: 263





	Something Softer (15x09 coda)

**Author's Note:**

> This ended up being way longer than I thought it would be, but I have so many emotions regarding this episode. Not proofread so if there are any mistakes let me know!

Three days after Dean and Cas get back from purgatory, after everything that happened with Chuck, and Eileen, and the future that could’ve been, Sam is still sleeping fifteen hours a day. The first night, he felt his legs shaking under the tired weight of his body, like he was going to collapse the second the front door closed behind Eileen. He dragged his feet in the direction of hushed, urgent voices, going completely silent as his footsteps approached. Sam struggled to get the words out, to explain why he couldn’t do it, even with -  _ especially with  _ \- their expectant faces urging him to just do it already.

“ _ Sam, smash it! Now! _ ” 

It rang in his ears; the confidence and sureness in Dean’s voice, like he knew this was their way out, like it was the only shot they had at trapping Chuck and he knew it would work. But it wouldn’t, and Sam knew that it wouldn’t. At least, he knew it wouldn’t if anything Chuck showed him could be believed. But at that moment in time, seconds away from potentially sealing all of their fates for good, Sam couldn’t dare to take the chance. He couldn’t risk falling into Chuck’s poorly constructed tragedy: a jumbled, uncoordinated mix of their worst memories relived in one final timeline. Experiencing every moment again in that one second - the mark, the ma’lak box, the phone call with Jody, the teeth, the emptiness in Dean’s eyes - Sam could do nothing more than fall to his knees. His eyes clamped shut in three different kinds of pain, unwilling to see their chance slip from his hands.

He doesn’t remember much of what Dean and Chuck talked about after that, their voices shifting in and out of focus every few words until he felt like his brain was going to melt and start spilling out of his ear. The ride home was a much needed break, physically and mentally, and when they finally got back to the bunker, Eileen laid the news on him as gently as she possibly could. He doesn’t blame her at all, for leaving. Finding out that life is a series of lies all orchestrated by one guy for his own entertainment can take its toll on a person. He knows from experience. It doesn’t mean he’s any less sad when she’s gone, and their kiss leaves him feeling even more hollow and off-center.

To say Sam had a downright awful day would be a severe understatement. Dean doesn’t ask for details, nor does he force Sam to justify ruining the trap. He figured copious blood loss and psychological torture were good enough excuses, at least for the time being. He didn’t think Dean would want to hear his reasoning anyway. They just got Cas back, and while things still don’t seem to sit quite right between them all, he thought Dean could do with another day or two in the dark about the future their plan would have entailed. 

When Dean suggested he go to bed, Sam didn’t argue or hesitate, simply making a break for his room, collapsing on the mattress. 

\---

Sam’s sleep was anything but peaceful. All through the night, morning, and into the evening, his dreams were plagued by the nightmarish caricatures of the potential future. More present than anything was Dean’s slack-jawed expression, a step beyond hopeless as he recalled the tragedies they had yet to experience in their actual lives; things Chuck probably cooked up on the spot if the lack of originality was anything to go by, and yet painful enough to make Sam want to guarantee that they never had to go through any of it. 

He saw Dean’s face, over and over again: angry, despondent, then empty. There’s a missing link where Cas should be. He hears for the hundredth time that Cas is gone, not dead, but somehow that makes it worse, and he finally bolted out of bed, out of breath and dying for a drink of water. Both Dean and Cas were there, at either side of his bed, looking even more concerned than they had when they first found him in the casino, which he didn’t think was possible.

The screaming was explained away pretty easily. Sam has had nightmares for the better part of his life. The long bout of sleep, however, was new. Sam typically deals with the opposite problem, sometimes going days without sleeping before crashing for a few hours and getting up again, not feeling any more well-rested. 

He had been out for just under fifteen hours, flailing awake at 5:31 pm. Dean even admitted his own concern over the anomaly.

“After the ten-hour mark I had to come in here to make sure you were still breathin’,” he joked, but Sam could see the way his eyes shifted over him with uncertainty, flitting over to Cas for less than a second and then back to Sam with artificial mirth. It may have only been a minute since he woke up, but Sam was conscious enough to know they were both more than a little worried. But they didn’t need to be. 

Really, Sam wasn’t feeling any worse than he has in the past. In fact, compared to some of the other things he’s had to deal with, this was kind of pleasant. Really he’s just tired. But he decides to get up and eat something, talking with Dean and Cas, and even with Eileen when she called to ask how he was doing, before heading back to his room again and falling asleep almost instantaneously. 

Now it’s day three, and the fact that they have no real plans for defeating God leaves him feeling hopeless. Again. He stays in touch with Eileen, checking in with her at least once a day because now that Chuck is no longer impeded by the gunshot wound, he doesn’t know what to expect anymore. Dean is still pretending like it’s no big deal that they have zero ideas now that their one opportunity has come and gone, but Sam knows what he’s doing. Dean’s doing his best to coddle him without seeming like he’s coddling him, and when he finally speaks out about it over dinner, Dean denies having done anything, looking to Cas for backup. 

Cas gives a smile that looks more like a grimace, but he nods and gives a shaky thumbs up. Sam looks back at Dean skeptically.

“If you want him to take your side at least teach him how to lie,” Sam says, looking at Dean, but he can see Cas slowly backing out of the room. 

“Dude, he’s not lying. We’re just… trying to approach this situation gently. We weren’t there when all of the stuff with Chuck went down, and it seems like it really affected you.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’ve been asleep for like three days straight. How exactly is that fine?” 

Sam can’t help but sigh at that. Logically, he knows Dean is right. He’s been through a lot in this line of work - in his life - but something about this is different in a way that he can’t put his finger on. He just never expected Dean to be so aware of that difference. 

“I feel fine, for the most part. And I think I’m done with all the sleeping. I guess I’m just a little weirded out. Gentle isn’t exactly your forte. Kinda waiting for you to tell me to shake it off and get back to work,” Sam says, unable to make eye contact with his brother as memories of years past dredge up and linger in his headspace; memories of Dean telling him to get over himself, to think about dad and all the other people in trouble. 

Obviously Dean cares about him. He’s sacrificed so much - too much - for him over the course of their lives, but this is a side of Dean Sam’s rarely seen, and even more rarely has been on the receiving end of. 

“Yeah, well, what’s the use in that? Sure, we could get right back to work, but let’s face it. We don’t even know where to start. It might be the end of the world, but the rest of the world doesn’t know that yet. I think we deserve a break, even if it is just a week. Don’t you?” Dean asks. The question hangs heavy, weightier than the facade of simplicity Dean tried to place upon it. Sam runs a hand down his face, breathing into his palm

“Can we really afford a break right now, Dean? I mean, for all we know, Chuck is already preparing for the end, and now that he’s at full power? Why aren’t you more concerned? Why aren’t you angry? I know I am!” Sam says, all in one breath. He’s exasperated, but not even because the world might be ending tomorrow. It’s because his brother is acting different for the first time in what is probably Sam’s entire memory of him.

“Of course I’m mad, but what’s the point of taking that out on you? Especially when you’re still recovering? I’d rather just relax.  _ You’re  _ not the reason I’m mad, Chuck is. So when we find a way to do it, I’ll take it out on him,” Dean says, straightforward, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. And maybe it is for well-adjusted people, but they are  _ so _ far from being well-adjusted. When Sam’s been blankly staring at Dean for ten seconds (or maybe longer; he wasn’t really counting) Dean clears his throat.

“Do you  _ want  _ me to get mad? I don’t see the problem here. I’m just saying we calm down before taking another stab at God.” As his sentence tapers off, Sam notices the way Dean’s eyes shift (something that’s been happening more and more frequently) in the direction of the entryway Cas walked through moments ago. His eyes stay glued to the opening for a few seconds, long enough that Sam has to make a decision about whether to bring it up now or to save it for a time when Dean is annoying him.

“No. No, of course not. I’m just saying this isn’t like you. Did something happen?” 

“What? Yeah, Chuck almost killed you,” Dean says, as if Sam had somehow managed to forget the hole in his shoulder and the false memories swarming his brain. 

“I meant with you. You and Cas were in purgatory the whole time I was strapped to that chair. You made it back alive and well enough to save me, but you never said exactly what happened while you were there. Was it okay?” As soon as the question leaves his mouth Sam can see the way Dean’s shoulders go rigid, but he shrugs it off pretty fast. 

“Of course it was okay. Why wouldn’t it be? We weren’t even there that long. We went in, got the stupid flower, and then left. End of story.” Dean’s eyes don’t meet Sam’s once as he makes this declaration. Sam can feel the way he’s walking a fine line here, afraid that one wrong move could land him right outside Dean’s good graces. He takes that chance.

“So you were in and out pretty fast? I know the rift could only stay open for twelve hours, but it sounds like you didn’t need all that time. It’s not often things work out that well for us.” Sam says it, phrases it the way he does, because he knows it’ll eat at Dean until he just comes out with the truth. He waits patiently, unbothered by the obvious tension beginning to settle around them.

“We were attacked, alright? We thought we outsmarted a monster, but surprise, surprise: we weren’t that lucky. I lost Cas for a while, got a little scared we weren’t gonna make it out on time, but it was all fine in the end, so what does it even matter?” Dean finishes by taking a pensive sip of his beer. Sam blinks. He was expecting a brief, unspecific summary, maybe; definitely not more than a sentence. So he takes a moment to process every part of what Dean said. 

“What do you mean you  _ lost  _ Cas? You didn’t stick together? What if you got stuck there?” Sam asks, suddenly irrationally annoyed by his brother’s recklessness, regardless of the fact that they were all safe now. He knows things had been pretty bad with Dean and Cas ever since mom died, but there are some actions too stupid even for his stubborn jerk of a brother.

“We were together. We were just overpowered. Nothing we could really do about it at that point. We got out in time, and that’s all that matters now.”

Sam knows Dean’s withholding more information, something else that happened, but he also knows his brother well enough to know that he’s already shared more than he wanted. Sam’s not getting anything else, not tonight at least, so he leans back in his chair and inhales.

“Yeah, you’re right. I’m glad you guys are okay, and I’m sorry that going there ended up being all for nothing,” Sam says, apologizing for his lack of action for the first time since that night. Because even if Dean says it’s fine, he knows it must be frustrating to know your hours of work went to waste.

“Hey, aside from being knocked unconscious by leviathans, it’s not too bad a spot. Kind of nice, actually. Space to think, and all that,” Dean says. There’s a tone of finality running through his words. Sam watches the way Dean taps his fingers on the table, standing and shaking Sam’s good shoulder before leaving the room the same way Cas left.

He doesn’t pretend to understand what Dean meant by any of what he said. 

\---

Things almost seem normal for a day. Sam’s back on a semi-regular sleep schedule, eating meals at appropriate times, watching TV, and even reading (secretly because Dean would kill him if he found out Sam was doing  _ work  _ when he was supposed to be  _ relaxing _ ). It’s because of this return to normalcy that Sam realizes things are decidedly  _ not normal _ . He can’t figure out what’s wrong, and for a few hours it gnaws at his sanity. It isn’t until 10:30, when he carefully tucks his book under his pillow, that Sam walks out of his room to grab a glass of water before going to sleep. He hears it again, hushed voices coming from the kitchen and the occasional splash of water, and when he turns the corner he can see his brother standing in front of the sink. 

Beside him, Cas stands with his shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbow, his trenchcoat nowhere in sight. 

“Dean, I don’t see what that achieved, other than making me slightly cold,” Cas says, holding his arms out and looking down at his torso. Sam can’t see much of anything from the angle he’s at but it looks like-

“Are you… washing the dishes?” Sam asks, still holding his glass out in front of him. Cas simply turns to face him, while Dean visibly jumps, water flicking out from his wet hands. He quickly catches his breath, obviously trying to pretend like he wasn’t just frightened by his little brother’s voice. It takes everything in Sam to keep a straight face. 

“Yes, Sam. Someone has to while you’re holed up in your room,” Dean says pointedly, almost defensively, like he’s trying to justify… doing the dishes.

“So you got Cas to help you?”

“I told him I wouldn’t be of much assistance, but he insisted that it would make the process faster. I didn’t really know what to do, but Dean taught me and it’s fairly simple. Though we have been at this for about an hour, so I can’t say it went any faster,” Cas explains in a way that only Cas can. Upon further observation, Sam notices the way Cas’s shirt is plastered to the front of him, soaked from the top button down to the middle in a big, wet splotch. 

“Yeah, but now that you know how, you’ll be able to do it in the future.”

“Somehow, I feel like this is an elaborate plan to make sure that  _ you  _ never have to wash the dishes ever again.” 

Sam listens to them go back and forth, barely any regard for the fact that he’s still standing there, and this is such a drastic difference from just a few days ago that he feels like he’s getting winded trying to follow their conversation.

“You have to admit it was pretty funny.”

“I know that I don’t know a lot about humor and jokes, but I think that splashing someone with dishwater is pretty low on the comedy scale.”

“Well, I’m really funny so you can probably take my word on it.”

“That is your opinion which I’m sure could be contested by many.”

There’s a look on Dean’s face when he speaks that Sam doesn’t think he’s ever seen before in his entire life, and he’s still just standing there, glass in hand, ready to be filled with water.

“I think I should change my shirt as it is becoming uncomfortable to wear. I’ll just-”

“I can find something for you,” Dean interjects before Cas can even finish his sentence, drying his hands on a dish towel. He places one hand on the small of Cas’s back for the briefest second before he removes it, shaking it out as if to undo the action. Sam watches this all, quizzical, and almost as if he isn’t actually there, but rather a spectator of a movie scene.

He walks to the sink and fills his glass with water. 

He would elect to ignore Dean’s weirdness if only it didn’t continue to grow, more and more odd, seemingly by the hour. Dean gives Cas a t-shirt to wear, and Sam thinks that’s the end of it until he wakes up the next day.

He’s the first one up for the first time in days, strange because Cas is usually wandering about at this time, sitting in the library reading, or watching TV in his room, but when he walks past the library not a book is out of place. His room door is ajar, but again, there is no sign of Cas. For a moment, Sam is terrified that Cas has left again without telling them anything.

He’s a second away from running into Dean’s room to ask if Cas said anything about going out when he hears music looping, a DVD menu from some 90s romcom playing endlessly from Dean’s room. The door is open just a crack, enough for Sam to see two pairs of socked feet at the end of the bed. 

He retreats from the door quietly, electing to take the opportunity to take more books into his room while Dean is still out, trying to make sense of Dean’s change of taste in movies. 

When Dean comes out of his room an hour later, bleary-eyed and in search of coffee, Sam decides to tread lightly.

“Do you know where Cas is?” he asks, not accusing, because in all actuality, Sam really doesn’t understand what’s happening with the two of them. Dean pauses his coffee-making process for a second, his back turned to Sam, when he answers.

“Still sleeping, I think,” Dean states, pouring water as if to show how unbothered he is by the whole situation, by Sam’s impromptu interrogation. 

“Oh, just got worried because his room was empty this morning.” The air settles around them as Dean continues preparing his coffee for brewing, turning on the machine and finally turning to face Sam again.

“Yeah, we were watching a movie last night. Must’ve fallen asleep then,” Dean says, standing with his shoulders as squared as his tired posture will allow. Sam decides to take a step back.

“So, he’s sleeping? Isn’t that kinda, you know, bad?” 

Dean just sighs, wiping his eyes with the heel of his hand.

“To be honest, Sam, I don’t know. I don’t know anything about angel health, or how he’s doing because he won’t even tell me. All I know is that we all clearly needed this break, and I’m glad I made that executive decision.”

“So, are you trying to find out what’s wrong with him? Maybe we can find something to help.”

“No, and I’d appreciate if you didn’t bring it up, at least not for the next couple of days. Trying not to think about, or make him think about any of that stuff. As far as I’m concerned, those problems are not real. They don’t exist. After this, we can break our backs trying to figure out a way to fix him, but for now? I think he likes just being here. And I…” 

“Okay, I get it. I’ll leave it alone. For now.”

“Thanks. I’m just gonna...” Dean says, never finishing his sentence, but pouring coffee into two mugs and gesturing back to his room before walking out.

Sam watches him go, a tiny smile on his face, but the threat of something bigger and darker and angrier looming in the back of his mind. He goes back to his room and immediately starts looking for ways to fix broken angels. 


End file.
